“Come to the den when you’ve finished,” meowed Sandstorm, giving him a lick. “I’ll fetch you some fresh-kill.”
Fireheart mewed his thanks and stumbled unsteadily to Yellowfang’s den. The clearing was empty, but when he called Yellowfang’s name the old medicine cat poked her head out of the gap in the rock.
“Fireheart? Great StarClan, you look like a squirrel that’s fallen out of its tree! What happened to you?”
She padded toward him as he explained. Cinderpaw limped out behind her and sat beside Fireheart, her blue eyes wide as she heard how he had nearly drowned.
Seeing her, Fireheart could not help remembering how she had been injured beside the Thunderpath—another accident arranged by Tigerclaw? Not to mention the cold-blooded murder of Redtail. His head spinning with fatigue, Fireheart wondered how he could possibly stop Tigerclaw before another cat died for the deputy’s ruthless ambition.
“Right,” rasped Yellowfang, interrupting his troubled thoughts. “You’re a strong cat, and you probably haven’t taken a chill, but we’ll check you to make sure. Cinderpaw, what should we look for when a cat gets a soaking?”
Cinderpaw sat up straight with her tail wrapped around her paws. Eyes fixed on Yellowfang, she recited, “Poor breathing, sickness, leeches in his fur.”
“Good,” grunted Yellowfang. “Off you go, then.”
Very carefully, Cinderpaw sniffed along the length of Fireheart’s body, parting his fur with one paw to make sure that no leeches had fastened themselves onto his skin. “Breathing okay, Fireheart?” she asked gently. “Do you feel sick?”
“No, everything’s fine,” Fireheart mewed. “I just want to sleep for a moon.”
“I think he’s all right, Yellowfang,” Cinderpaw reported. She pressed her cheek against Fireheart’s and gave him a couple of quick licks. “Just don’t go jumping in any more rivers, eh?”
Yellowfang let out a throaty purr. “All right, Fireheart, you can go and sleep now.”
Cinderpaw flicked up her ears in surprise. “Aren’t you going to check him as well? What if I’ve missed something?”
“No need,” meowed Yellowfang. “I trust you, Cinderpaw.” The old cat stretched, arching her skinny back, and then relaxed. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a while,” she went on. “I see so many mouse-brained cats around here that it’s a real joy to find one with some sense. You’ve learned quickly, and you’re good with sick cats.”
“Thank you, Yellowfang!” Cinderpaw burst out, her eyes round with surprise at Yellowfang’s praise.
“Be quiet, I haven’t finished. I’m getting old now, and it’s time I started to think about finding an apprentice. Cinderpaw, how would you feel about becoming ThunderClan’s next medicine cat?”
Cinderpaw leaped to her paws. Her eyes were sparkling and she quivered with excitement. “Do you really mean it?” she whispered.
“Of course I mean it,” Yellowfang growled. “I don’t talk for the pleasure of hearing my own voice, unlike some cats.”
“In that case, yes,” Cinderpaw murmured, lifting her head with dignity. “I’d like that better than anything in the whole world!”
Fireheart felt his heart begin to beat faster with happiness. He had worried so much for Cinderpaw, at first when he thought she might die, then when it became clear that her injured leg would stop her from becoming a warrior. He remembered how she had wondered desperately what she could make of her life. And now it looked as if Yellowfang had found the perfect solution. Seeing the young she-cat so happy and excited about the future was more than Fireheart had ever hoped for.
Fireheart went back to the warriors’ den on lighter paws to share fresh-kill with Sandstorm and then to sleep. When he awoke, the light in the den was red from the rays of the setting sun.
Graystripe was nudging him. “Wake up,” his friend meowed. “Bluestar has just called a meeting.”
Fireheart left the den to find Bluestar already standing on the top of the Highrock. Yellowfang was beside her, and when all the cats were assembled it was the old medicine cat who spoke first.
“Cats of ThunderClan,” she rasped, “I have an announcement to make. As you know, I am not a young cat. It’s time I took an apprentice. So I’ve chosen the only cat I can put up with.” Yellowfang let out an amused purr. “And the only cat who can put up with me. Your next medicine cat will be Cinderpaw.”
A chorus of pleased meows broke out. Cinderpaw sat at the foot of the rock, her eyes shining and her fur sleekly groomed. She lowered her head shyly as the Clan congratulated her.
“Cinderpaw.” Bluestar made herself heard above the noise. “Do you accept the post of apprentice to Yellowfang?”
Cinderpaw lifted her head to look up at her leader. “Yes, Bluestar.”
“Then at the half moon you must travel to Mothermouth, to be accepted by StarClan before the other medicine cats. The good wishes of all ThunderClan will go with you.”
Yellowfang half jumped, half slithered down from the rock, and padded up to Cinderpaw to touch noses with her. Then the rest of the Clan gathered around the new apprentice. Fireheart caught sight of Brackenpaw pressing close to his sister, his eyes glowing with pride, and even Tigerclaw went up to her and meowed a few words. It was clear that Cinderpaw was a popular choice for this important position.
As he waited to give Cinderpaw his congratulations, Fireheart could not help wishing that all his own problems could be solved as smoothly.
Chapter 18
The sun began to set for the third time since Fireheart had almost drowned. The young warrior was washing himself outside his den, scraping his tongue across his fur. He kept imagining that he could still taste the muddy water. As he twisted his head to wash his back, he heard the pad of approaching paws, and looked up to see Tigerclaw looming over him.
“Bluestar wants you to go to the Gathering,” the deputy growled. “Meet her outside her den—and bring Sandstorm and Graystripe.” He stalked away before Fireheart could reply.
Fireheart got up and stretched. Glancing around, he spotted Graystripe and Sandstorm eating beside the patch of nettles, and hurried over to join them. “Bluestar has chosen us to go to the Gathering,” he announced.
Sandstorm finished off her blackbird and swiped a pink tongue around her jaws. “But can we get to the Gathering?” she meowed, sounding puzzled. “I thought the stream was impossible to cross.”
“Bluestar said StarClan would be angry if we didn’t try,” Fireheart mewed. “She wants to talk to us now—maybe she has a plan.”
Graystripe spoke through a mouthful of vole. “I just hope she doesn’t expect us to swim.” In spite of his words, his eyes shone with excitement as he gulped the rest of the fresh-kill and sprang to his paws. Fireheart knew he must be looking forward to a chance to see Silverstream, and he wondered if they had managed to meet in the time since he and Graystripe had been caught crossing the river after their ill-fated hunting mission for RiverClan.
Fireheart thought of Silverstream’s kits, and he wondered how Graystripe would be able to bear seeing them grow up in another Clan. Would Silverstream ever be able to tell them that Graystripe, the ThunderClan warrior, was their father? Fireheart tried to put the questions out of his mind as he and his friends crossed the clearing to the Highrock. Bluestar was sitting outside her den, with Whitestorm, Mousefur, and Willowpelt already by her side. A moment later Tigerclaw and Darkstripe joined them.
“As you know, the moon is full tonight,” Bluestar began when all the cats were gathered around her. “It will be hard to get to Fourtrees, but StarClan would expect us to do all we can to find a dry route. So I’ve chosen warriors only—this will be no journey for elders or apprentices, or queens expecting kits. Darkstripe, you led a patrol to examine the stream this morning. Report what you found.”